


and they were roommates (omg they were roommates)

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Belly Kink, Burping, College AU, Feeding, For my lovely friend, M/M, feels weird to tag that but, i wrote this in 4 hours, im def gna write him more doe, karkat is a good cook of alternian food, unintentional weight gain, we share kinks so he gets self indulgent davekat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: im too bored to make this fic look pretty but i promise the writing is better than the tags and summary make it look, im just tired. anyway karkat and dave r roommates in college and its a weight gain fic thats really all there is to say on the matter
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58
Collections: Anonymous





	and they were roommates (omg they were roommates)

**Author's Note:**

> blah blah if ur sensitive to unintentional weight gain or body image maybe dont read this
> 
> this is purely fantasy fodder dont take this as endorsement of the authors morals
> 
> tell me if u like it i guess

Your name is Dave Strider and your first day of college is going… not like you thought it would.

It had started out already hectic, you waking up late and delaying the eight hour road trip you and your brother had to make up to the campus and then almost forgetting your turntables and having to go back, but now you’re here. Starving, cramped, and in desperate need of a shower, but here. Dirk had insisted on speedrunning the entire eight hours in one go, not stopping except for to fill up gas and once to take a piss, and you spent that entire time folded up in the passenger seat, legs against your chest as you stared out the window at the passing fields. 

You unpack the last of your CDs and turn around to give the plastic tub back to Dirk, who takes it and nods. “Is that the last of it?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You’re suddenly struck with the realization that this is the first night you’ll be sleeping away from him since… well, ever basically. That doesn’t make you emotional at all, so you have absolutely no trouble keeping a stoic face. “You heading out, then?”

He shrugs. “If you don’t need anything else. You think you can manage?”

“As well as I ever have.” You’re lying. You’re fucking terrified to be on your own, terrified of figuring this whole thing out without him to fall back on. But you can’t say that to your weird, awkward big brother, so you just let him pat you on the back wordlessly and make his way out to the car. 

You see his shitty Subaru forester pull out of the parking lot, and then he’s gone. You’re alone in your dorm, your half freshly covered in posters and tapestries and vinyls, the other half aggressively black and red. Whoever you’re rooming with is clearly a man of very specific taste- or, at least, you think it’ll be a man. You’d written on the request form that you preferred a male roomie, and didn’t have a preference in species (because seriously, what kind of question is that at a co-ed university?), but who knows who they’d stick you with. Whoever it is, you think they might like heart patterns a bit too much. 

You flop back on your bed, covering your face and trying to collect your thoughts. God, you need to brush your teeth and clean off. Your hair feels like greased hay. But even more than that, you need to _eat_. You really wish Dirk would’ve stopped at that Dairy Queen. You decide food takes precedence over hygiene, and thus you change into some different sweats and a sleep shirt (the drive had taken up all the daylight hours), slap on some deodorant, and start heading downstairs to find your way to the commons to hopefully figure out the free meal program. 

Just as you’re about to walk out the door, a scent like nothing your pitiful human nostrils have never scent hits you. It’s… Garlicky, you think? And almost lemony, too, but either way it's definitely some sort of meat. Your stomach growls, _hard_ , and fuck it, you’ll figure out the commisary later, or maybe you won’t even need it, because someone here can _cook_. 

You aren’t sure who you expected to be in the student housing’s kitchen, but it isn’t who you see. First of all, he’s _massive_ , like, bigger than your weird uncle, and wide as shit. It’s a troll, a guy, you’re guessing, and jegus you know you just said it and you know when trolls molt they get bigger but he’s just so goddamn big. You know you’re pretty small, since you got stunted from lack of nutrients and stuck at 5’4”, but this guy is like, unnecessarily large. He’s wearing a hoodie and grey shorts that definitely do not help your eyes stay up, and cooking what looks like… meatballs? Maybe? You honestly can’t tell. At any rate, he hasn’t noticed you yet, lost as he is in his cooking and the soap opera he seems to be glued to. His phone is sitting in a little makeshift duct tape pocket above the stove.

When you clear your throat he jumps about five feet in the air and whirls around to find the intruder, only to have to bring his eyeline down about half a foot to find the offending creature, whom you’re now uncomfortably aware is you. His eyes narrow in a way you think is unwarranted, because come on man, what’re you gonna do, steal his weird troll meatballs?, but he schools his face back into only mild annoyance.

“Uh, hi,” you start when it becomes clear he’s not going to take the initiative. “I’m Dave. I think we’re, like, roommates?” He has to be your roommate, right? Please let him be your roommate. Not for weird reasons, of course. Just, maybe if you’re going to be sharing space, he’d be a little more enticed to share his cooking, is all. You’re pretty sure you’d take any advantage you could get to try it right about now. He says nothing, just keeps staring at you as if waiting for you to get to the point. “Uh. Yeah. So. I kind of smelled you from up there, or your food I mean, not you that would be wack, and thought I should come introduce myself…”

That seems to be sufficient explanation, and he turns back to continue mixing his whatever-the-fuck-it-is as he replies. “So you became aware someone was making food for themselves, and you came in to help yourself? You realize this is college, not your goddamn mom’s house, right?”

He sounds so derisive it almost makes you bristle, but you keep your cool like the very reasonable and starving person you are. “Nah, man, I just wanted to get to know whoever was in here.”

The troll huffs in response, pushing the sauce (is that sauce? Gravy? Whatever) around in the pan before answering, “Well, great then. I’m Karkat. I’m your roommate. We will have plenty of time to get acquainted when I’m not making _myself_ dinner.” Karkat eyes you like you’re going to come grab his weird troll meatballs with your bare fists if he doesn’t keep watch. “See you upstairs.” It’s clear from his tone he’s not jonesing for a response, and he pointedly turns his back on you. 

__

__

Goddamn it. Your stomach gives an indignant gurgle at the lost prospect, but you ignore it. “All right, man, I know how to take a hint,” you find yourself saying, and you’re halfway out the door and up the stairs before you hear a growl of frustration and Karkat’s standing in the doorway, his bulky frame blocking out the warm light of the kitchen as he leans against the side. 

“Gog, _FINE_ , if you’re really THAT hungry,” he says in the tone of someone being forced to invite their little sibling to the mall. “Come sit down and I’ll fucking give you some.”

‘Some’ turns out to mean ‘almost all’, in Karkat’s book, as when he serves you the steaming bowl of what you’ve dubbed _treatballs_ (troll meatballs) with freshly grated cheese (?) over the top filled right to the brim. You notice his is substantially less heaping, and that pulls at something in your chest you can’t place. You dig in immediately, mumbling a thanks in between your bites, and _oh my gog this is fucking amazing_. It really does taste like Olive Garden meatballs (the only meatballs you’d ever tried, Dirk wasn’t much of a cook), but somehow a THOUSAND times better. You’re done with your portion before you even know what happened, and Karkat is staring at you with eyes like saucers. 

“Jegus, dude.”

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten all day,” you apologize, smiling guiltily and patting your stomach. “I had to drive up, no time to stop, you know how it is.”

Karkat says nothing, but his brow furrows and after a minute of you sitting there waiting for him to finish he silently pushes the remainder of his portion towards you. 

Feeling his eyes on you as you practically inhale the remainder, somehow, you have a feeling this is going to start becoming a pattern.

\------

Become a pattern it does. In between sharing a few classes and sleeping in the same room and both of you being generally insufferable humantroll beings in very different ways, you and Karkat Vantas end up becoming something of the campus odd couple. He’s huge, and hulking, and honestly pretty scary looking, well over six feet and built like a compacted clay hive. He’s got thick, angry eyebrows set firmly on his face, and huge, strong hands with menacing claws. He’s pierced to shit and wears exclusively red and black and you tease him for how emo it all is but he knows he looks cool as shit. You, on the other hand, are still as small and dainty as ever, still mostly wearing Dirk’s hand-me-downs and some pieces you got from the nearby Goodwill after Karkat took you and showed you how to shop. 

Or, well, you _were_ still as small and dainty as ever. Y’see, apparently becoming Friend Property Of Karkat Vantas meant absolutely unreal amounts of time in the kitchen. He’s got two main passions- romance lit, and cooking traditional Alternian cuisine. Most of your free afternoons you find yourself sitting at the kitchen table, reviewing your mixes, waiting for Karkat to ask you to taste test whatever food he’s trying out this time. And like, don’t get you wrong, it’s good. Like, _too_ good, almost. You appreciate him sharing with you, obviously, but. Well.

Your waistline might not agree. 

You notice pretty quickly into the second month you’re at college that your pants are feeling a little snug. You’ve been putting off thinking about it for a while, totally convinced it would go away if you just ignored it hard enough, but of course it doesn’t. You’re getting dressed to go out for coffee with Karkat when you realize this really isn’t going to go on unnoticed for much longer. 

“Hey, man, can we stop at Goodwill on the way home?”

“Sure, why?” Karkat pauses as he pulls on his leather jacket, looking at you in confusion. “Wanna look for more CDs?”

“Nah, not this time,” you start, ducking your head in embarrassment. “I’m kinda… outgrowing my pants?”

The silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife, but eventually he nods gruffly once, twice, three times. “If that’s what you want.” Something in his voice tells you he’s holding something back, but you don’t want to push it. Especially since for some reason telling your best bro you’re practically spilling out of your jeans is making you want to keel over and die. You nod and step through the door he’s holding for you.

\-----

Thankfully you’re smart enough to invest in some stretch pants, because clearly this little problem is not going to solve itself. 

You know you were never the fittest person to begin with, but that used to be because you were too _small_. You drowned in your secondhand clothes. Using belts was a given. You could wrap your thumb and pointer finger around your wrist and still have room. You were always just sort of littler than everyone else around you, more fragile.

Not now. The past several months have _really_ changed all that. Where your thighs had barely touched before, they’re starting to brush up against eachother just enough for you to be acutely aware of it at all times. Where your stomach was flat and defined and your hip bones poked out like little speed bumps, now it’s… well, you guess now it’s what the kids would call a belly. Your belly button’s starting to get oblong, you can feel your love handles whenever you move… 

Yeah. Uh. It’s kind of a thing now. 

You know Karkat isn’t _trying_ to make this happen, logically you know that, but… Well. 

It’s just a lot of food, isn’t it? Like, he never stops cooking. When you’re in the kitchen doing homework, boom, he’s cooking pasta. When you wake up from your naps, he’s taking a pizza out of the oven. Coming out of the shower? Cookies, right there. Home from class? Hey, there’s this troll equivalent to fried chicken he wanted to try out! It’s just so much _fucking food_. And it’s not like you can refuse it, right? You’ve never had this much food just laying around, and it’s not like it’s not _good_. Far from it, it’s the best goddamn food you’ve ever had. But too much of a good thing can be just as bad as not enough, can’t it?

You voice these concerns to Karkat one Saturday and he raises an eyebrow as he keeps on chopping his weird onion-adjacent vegetable from the alternian store. You and Karkat basically only shop there nowadays- in fact, you’re currently munching on a family size bag of your favorite alternian chip brand. You and Karkat were supposed to share, but… well. You got hungry. 

“Too much food? Is that even a thing?”

“I mean, maybe not for trolls, but for humans, yeah. Kinda.” You couldn’t make eye contact if you wanted to, so instead you just look down into the chip bag and grab another handful. If you’re eating, you aren’t fucking embarassing yourself with your big mouth, at least. 

Karkat’s face is going through about a million different emotions, but he lands on exasperated. “Dave, when the year started you were, like, fucking emaciated. Seriously, I don’t think pre-molt trolls can even be as small as you were. So like, you’re welcome for helping! Some thanks I get!” His voice gets dangerously close to angry, but he shuts up as quickly as he burst out, so you don’t get the chewing out you might have anticipated. 

Oh. _OH_... That’s. Hm. You already knew trolls had different biology, but it’s just now occurring to you that maybe Karkat’s just cooking troll-sized portions. And you’d been finishing them, day in and day out. Putting on weight.

God, why is that so fucking hot? 

“Huh.”

“What, worried about the freshman fifteen?” He’s cleaning off a glass like a bartender in a western as he looks at you from across the room.

You snort. “Dude. More like freshman thirty.” You pat your belly for emphasis, trying to ignore how easily it gives when you put pressure on it. “You have to have noticed, humans don't just _do_ this.”

That seems to fluster him, and the smirk falls off his fanged lips. He mumbles something about not knowing much about human biology, turning away from you towards the sink. 

Okay, well. That’s interesting. You file that away for later, and start setting the table for dinner. You pretend you can’t feel your chub rub.

\-----

You are so, so fucking full. 

Here’s what went down: it’s Christmas night. Karkat made a _huge_ spread, ate next to none of it, and now you’re sprawled out on the couch bitching and moaning with the sorest stomach you’ve ever had.

“Can you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to watch.” Karkat’s watching the TV next to you, focused on some random Hallmark movie they play every year- the kind with a blonde business lady and a moderately attractive male lead who teaches her the value of _family_ or whatever the fuck.

“Dude, no, I’m fucking STUFFED.” You try to sit up and your stomach grumbles in protest, so you go back to laying with your head in Karkat’s lap. “Am I dying? Is this what death feels like?”

Karkat’s free leg jogs up and down as he keeps his eyes glued to the screen. “I don’t know. Just shut the fuck up, please.” His voice is dangerously tense, and whether or not he’s serious you shut up before he gets too annoyed.

You’ve managed to almost drift off to sleep when you feel a hand on your belly, and _ohgood_. The pressure starts getting relieved almost immediately, and you have to keep in a moan. Your stomach, however, has no such qualms, and you burp before you can even cover your mouth. 

“Fuck, sorry, man,” you murmur without even opening your eyes, but Karkat either didn’t hear or doesn’t care since he just keeps on going, rubbing into the pudge of your gut with the pads of his fingers.

It goes on like that for a while, you sitting in silence as he rubs your belly and you pretend not to be experiencing nirvana, you occasionally burping as he massages your stomach ache out, trying and failing to stifle it. You drift off like that, falling backwards into sleep.

You wake up feeling better than you have in weeks, and with one thought: you’ve _got_ to get Karkat to do that again.

\-----

Okay, at this point, pretending this whole ‘blowing up like a balloon’ situation isn’t happening is really not cutting it anymore. You know what is cutting it? Your stupid fucking pants, into your giant fucking gut.

You really thought after you mentioned it to Karkat, he’d cool it with the food, but he seems to have gotten the opposite message. The fridge is always, _always_ full now. And you thought you’d get less hungry but you _didn’t_! If anything, you're more hungry! 

And Karkat is no help. You kind of figured out you were into each other at some point (incredible revelation, one for the fanfictions, you know), so now he’s ten times more pushy about what he’s calling your health. That is to say, feeding you copious amounts of food and insisting it’s taking care of you. It’s the last month of school (and like, five sizes up from where you started) when you finally feel like it’s worth it to confront him about it.

You’re laying on the bed with him, curled up against his chest (because no matter how wide you get, you’re still the same height as you always were) when you finally work up the courage. “Bro?” you start, toying with his hoodie strings as he looks down at you. “Could I ask sort of a weird question?”

“Weirder than your normal talking points, you mean?”

“Shut up,” you mumble into Karkat’s shirt, but there’s no real heat in his voice. “Just. Ah. So you know when we talked about like. What we’re into?” He waits to feel Karkat nod. “And… you’re sure you didn’t miss anything?” 

You feel your bro stiffen up as soon as you say it. “What do you mean?” he says slowly, but you can tell from the tone he already sort of has an idea. 

“I mean.” You sigh as you brace yourself. This needs to happen if you’re going to get any sleep at night. “Like. I don’t know if there’s a troll equivalent, and I could be totally wrong, but… you know. I kind of wanted to ask. Just in case.”

“Dave.” His voice is a clear warning to hurry it up, and he encircles his arms around your waist. 

“God, okay, I just. Dude, are you like. Into feeding me, or something?”

Karkat’s arms tighten almost imperceptibly and he clears his throat as casually as he possibly can. “What do you mean?”

You shift uncomfortably in his grip, but that just makes him hold you tighter. “Like. Ah. Fuck, dude, this is sort of embarrassing to talk about out loud,” you laugh awkwardly, but plow on for fear Karkat will just up and leave. “Just. You cook, like, way too much for you, you never eat it, you just. Watch me. And the other week when I came home from class and you had that whole meal ready? You can’t tell me that was just for fun, man.”

“Well, you still ate all of it,” Karkat hedges. 

“Yeah, well, you’ve gotten me to the point where I’m fuckin’ hungry _all the time_ , what else was I supposed to do?” You laugh a bit, but it comes out hollow. 

He’s silent for a moment before saying softly, “You are?”

There is no way he hasn’t noticed, but Karkat asking questions is usually a sign he wants to listen to you talk, and you aren’t about to give up that opportunity. “I mean, kind of, dude. I never really grew up with much food lying around, so I already eat whatever’s in front of me, and you didn’t exactly let up. So. I just grew a bigger appetite, I guess. And now here I am,” you sigh, moving Karkat’s hands over your gut, “like, fucking seventy pounds later. Your fault, dude, so giving me up now that I’m a fatass isn’t gonna work.”

“I wouldn’t give you up for that,” he mumbles, and squeezes you ever tighter. “You finally look healthy.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“No, you do, Dave.” He rolls over, pinning you beneath him so you’re on your back, looking up at his earnest face. “I always thought you were good looking for a human-”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Shut the fuck up, moron. Anyway. I did, but you were… small.” he wrinkles his nose, remembering what you looked like when you first met. “And fragile. Like a wriggler. Now you’re so…” Karkat looks you up and down and you feel his eyes linger on how your shirt clings to the curve of your belly, how there’s a little swell where the bottom of it isn’t being contained by the fabric. “Much. Just so _much_ , Dave, and so healthy and good and fucking _gorgeous_ ,” he says, and then he’s kissing down your neck before you can reply.

Quicker than you register, he’s pulled your shirt off and he’s straddling your thighs, towering over you. His hands come up to cup your belly as if he’s in a trance, claws neatly manicured per your request. He pinches a bit of flab just to test, and seeing how much give it has, he grabs more, then more, pulling and kneading and rolling the fat there and pressing hot kisses into it as you squirm. 

“So fucking hot,” he breathes against your skin, and you feel his fangs catch the bottom of your belly. “I swear to gog, Dave.” You can’t even say anything, just whimper and nod. His hands on your belly should not feel as good as they do. Your eyes slide closed as Karkat’s claws come up to cup your chest- you got top at the start of junior year, and yeah, maybe you’re not as flat as you were, but hey, it’s really not so disproportionate nowadays. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He looks up from where he’s just staring at your tits in his hands, the way they fit so perfectly in his palms. 

“Fuck you,” he grumbles, and as quick as he sat up he’s back down next to you, sliding an arm under you like you’re weightless. “You know you’re fucking hot.”

“I know _you think_ I’m hot, because you just put the last year into fattening me up like prized livestock.”

Karkat doesn’t reply to that and you think for a second you touched a nerve, but then he kisses your forehead and he’s in soft boyfriend mode. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I should’ve said something, it isn’t right. I just… you look so happy, when you eat.”

You consider that for a moment. “I guess I am. And I don’t exactly mind having an in-house chef, either.” Nuzzling closer to his side, you add, “and plus, knowing I can get as fat as I wan’t and you’ll always be here for it, that’s a pretty sweet deal, bro.”

Karkat makes a noise like he’s whining as he’s being strangled, but he doesn’t say anything besides, “I guess it is.”

“You’re such a fuckin’ weirdo,” you snicker. You can sense his rage building before he suddenly and unceremoniously dumps you out of bed, making you yelp. 

“Okay, fuck you, I’m going to make dinner.” He pokes his head back around the door. “What were you feeling?”

“Whatever you’re feeling,” you shrug, and his head disappears back outside the room. “Oh, and Karkat?” you call, and boom, there he is again, staring owlishly at you. You smile conspiratorially. “Make a whole fuckin’ lot of it.”

The stomachache you’re nursing later that night is worth the look on his face. The bellyrubs are just an added bonus.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah


End file.
